Vomitola in Real Life

Pictured above: Licketysplit walks on water.

The other day, I was saying to Lambchop “I wonder if people realize just how close our lives are to the drivel we write here?” It’s America’s best-kept secret and shame. WE really live this way! We really mutter about lost gum and shake our fists when they run out of chai at the coffee bar. We have situations and hijinks.

This morning, I have already been beset by my lawyer, money manager, and a plastic surgeon. That last bastard would not let me take an arm’s length photo as he carved 3 unattractive millimeters off my face, nor would he let me take home suturing material “just cuz.” He also would not give me breast implants on the spot. Not that I need them. He was very reassuring that once those 3 millimeters are run through pathology (that means “the study of ugliness,” I believe), I will be perfect. What a relief! He could have told me that before the botox and laser peel, I suppose. Everyone’s got to make a buck.

I have somehow secured an advancement in my career (the odd thing I do when not writing Vomitola), and I am expected to write the public announcement of my own good fortune. Do you think it’s enough to mention that I haven’t killed and eaten anyone in 6 whole months? I am so used to luxuriating in my own bubble of excellence that it seems almost rude to analyze all the ways in which I am excellent. What do I say about the me who has everything?

I have punted this task to Lambchop, who advises a complete lack of humility.

 

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